Monday, August 6, 2012

In the Trunk by Lucy Burdette (aka Roberta Isleib)

When
the subject of trunk novels came up, I thought I’d have nothing to say. But
then I remembered the first book I ever wrote, FINAL ROUND. As it was told,
Cassie Burdette, a lady golfer whose personal baggage limited her professional
success, had the bad luck to get involved with the murder of a superstar
golfer. On the basis of that manuscript, I landed an agent and she sold a
5-book golf lovers mystery series to Berkley Prime Crime. But FINAL ROUND was
rejected because Cassie was serving as a caddie, carrying the bag for a man on
the PGA tour. They wanted her to be shown as a golfer, not a caddie, in the
first book of the series.

“But
she has issues,” I explained, “that prevent her from playing at that level.”

The
publisher didn’t care.

So
FINAL ROUND went in the trunk.

While
I was waiting to hear news of a sale, I wrote an installment in the series in
which Cassie falls for a gorgeous professional golfer in the Dominican
Republic. Tropical setting, voodoo, a dangerous romance: What was not to like?
But my new editor determined that foreign settings weren’t selling. Into the
trunk it went.

After
eight mysteries, I attempted a non-mystery “breakout” book, featuring a jilted
real estate agent and the detective from my advice column mysteries. My agent
felt it wasn’t representative of my strongest work. Thunk, went the manuscript
into the trunk.

Next
I started a book about a psychologist who was tricked into co-leading a
happiness group and finally found happiness herself. I got involved in writing
something else and didn’t finish it. Thud: on the pile—in the trunk.

And
then came the book I fondly call “the homeless baby thriller.” But
three-quarters of the way through, I got distracted by writing a proposal for
the Key West food critic mystery series. So the thriller is gathering dust with
the other trunk inhabitants.

Oh,
and don’t let me forget the children’s book about a zany Australian shepherd
who gets in trouble with all the neighbors. Trunkward bound after a clumsy
first draft.

So
though I’m thrilled to be celebrating the publication of my tenth book in ten
years (DEATH IN FOUR COURSES, the second in the Key West food critic mystery
series), I’ve actually written 16! I’ve decided there’s very good news in all
of this because I learned more about writing with each book and had great fun
along the way. And all but the first two are still interesting ideas that I’d
love to go back to one day, if life ever slows down.

Someone
told me once that he’d pitched a golf mystery to an editor who told him that
writing about golf would kill his career.But honestly, I don’t have a moment of regret. And here I give you the
opening of my first ever novel—fresh from the trunk:

FINAL ROUND by Roberta Isleib

The
first streaks of sun lit up the golf course like a carpet of emeralds.I rolled my neck in slow circles,
easing out kinks left over from a long drive and a series of lumpy mattresses.A palpable hum of excitement and
hopefulness hung over the practice range, which teemed with golfers grooming
their swings for today’s tournament.

Despite
the pastoral backdrop, I knew the tension that permeated these early minutes
would surge over the next few days.For professional golfers, competition was more than just a game.Take the first tee, where a crowd of
fans narrowed the hole to a chute with living, breathing walls.And suppose the only image that flashed
through your mind was shanking the ball off the toe onto some spectator’s bald
head.Or worse yet, making no
contact at all.Or maybe the guy
you needed to take apart that day was your best buddy off the course.Even so, you had to grind away without
a thought about how he felt.No
question about it, competition could be murder.

I’d
worked hard to get here.Except I
never imagined I’d make my appearance carrying someone’s bag, not using the
clubs myself.And there were
things I missed about playing.Like the feeling of striking a shot so pure, so perfect, you knew it was
your best.Or say you were playing
an opponent who had the game to kill you, but you’d clawed a path to two holes
up anyway.Or maybe you were
coming down the home stretch all square and your hands felt like concrete
blocks, but you needed to chip close to give yourself a chance for bird.And you knocked it stiff.

Yeah,
I missed it.Gods knows, I grew up
in a family that could make eating mashed potatoes into a contest.Even our dog was competitive:you had to fight him for a place in the
front seat of the car.But right
now, my job as Mike’s caddie was to stay in the background.Kind of a Hillary Clinton to her Bill,
only without the humiliating Monica Lewinsky part.

And I can’t wait for September and the debut of DEATH IN
FOUR COURSES. Publishers Weekly called it a "yummy sequel...Anyone who's
ever overpaid for a pretentious restaurant meal will relish this witty
cozy." Hooray!